Memory is
merciless.
I frame
moments of memory
in mind:
me
on your bed
you
on your feet.
A snapshot of your gaze.
Looming. Subdued and
sublime
soaking
in the warm blue of midnight.
Silent solid presence
inhales
humid August air
exhales
my name
into darkness.
I melt into summer
but
summer has no sensation.
Unzip my longing.
Devour my desire.
release
retreat
repent.
You never touched me
only
ate me alive.
Anyone I meet in summer
smothers me and
like summer
slips out the window
one September night
to wake with a chill
in stillness.
Memory is metaphor.
Singed at the tips,
crisp in my hand.
Crumbling
into empty palms of autumn.
Memory.
Is a martyr.
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